


Smash into You

by KrazyKeke



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Black Character(s), Black Reader, Bodyswap, Erik Killmonger Grows up in Wakanda, Erik-centric, F/M, Reader-Insert, Wakandan Reader (Marvel), and canon is gonna be changed in subtle and wildly differing ways, everything is going back from the start, in this soulmate au you can switch bodies with your soulmate during a specific time every year, this is going to be a massive undertaking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 20:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17029302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazyKeke/pseuds/KrazyKeke
Summary: When two souls are meant to connect: location, timing, and circumstances are all irrelevant. They suddenly become a magnet for one another and despite their efforts to fight it, the universe somehow manipulates it all in their favor, and in that moment when they give in, a new love is born.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a not for profit fanwork. Everything that you read here is the result of my own wild imagination. Don't mind me y'all, we all know I think Erik/N'Jadaka and N'Jobu deserved better.

The first thing he takes note of is the cold. 

An icy sensation that pervades his entire being from the soles of his feet up to his torso, and when he inhales deeply, or tries to, the chilly air stings his stuffy nostrils painfully. Eyes flowing open of their own accord, he sat up. Shoulders hunched, head almost adjacent with his knees as his frame trembled and shook with the force of his coughs. 

He hears the thump-thump-thump of someone’s feet slapping against the floor and a door being thrown open. In the next moment, a great, hacking cough causes him to choke on what he assumes to be either mucus or whatever he ate last night, and a hand finds the nape of his neck even as a wooden bucket is shoved underneath his nose.

“Shh, shh. Don’t try to hold it. It’s okay.” 

And he can’t even assure this person that really, no. He’s not trying to ‘hold it’ before the contents exit his mouth, violently. Fingers spasming, he holds onto the bucket, eyes closed and tears stinging the corners of his eyes as big meaty chunks forces itself out of his esophagus, the sensation painful and stinging. 

Long minutes pass. 

When he thinks he’s done being sick and leans up slightly, another wave washes over him and again, he ducks back over the bucket as the process repeats itself until there’s nothing left and he’s just heaving watery spittle. 

All while this is happening, the hand on the nape of his neck is a warm comfort.

“You’re done, I think. I’ll empty this and get some water.” The bucket is practically filled to the brim, or at least at the halfway mark, and he’s glad that it’s taken away, because the smell, sharp and acidic, wafting up to his nose might have been enough to set him off again. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s left alone now. 

Blinking his eyes to get rid of the tears, he tries futilely to sniff, but only one nostril is allowing him to partially breathe in the air and so he’s forced to breathe through his mouth. Glancing from the left and to the right, belatedly taking in his surroundings; the room he’s in… 

It’s not… 

This is not his bedroom in Oakland.

Just as he comes to that realization that this is not home, “You’re not——” Head snapping to the person speaking, he’s frustrated to realize that he can’t see their face too well, any and all distinguishing features blurred and distorted. 

And the name that was just uttered? 

He couldn’t hear that either. Like overhearing an incoming train on the railroad tracks, a high pitched sound reverberated through his ears, causing him to hiss and slap a hand to the side of his (this?) face to block out the sound. 

“I thought as much when you didn’t sneak out of bed to try and play with the toys.” Hand finding his forehead, a faint pressure is applied and he’s gently pushed back, so that he’s resting against the pillows. 

“Close your eyes, now.”

Eyes drifting to half mast then closed of their own volition.

“Focus on a memory… or a place…per… E.. a fo… you…Fo….”

As if he’s being submerged into a tub of warm water headfirst, the person speaking in such a soothing, perhaps even peaceful, tone, causes him to calm and lulls him into a state of relaxation. 

His worries and fears and questions drift away…

…away…

The next time he breathes in, eyes shooting open, wheezing and lurching upwards, and the familiar scent of his father is a comfort. 

“Shh, shh, shh.” He instinctively recoils as the words register, but his father just holds him, rocking his body back and forth, back and forth. “It’s okay, my son. It’s alright.” His pops rests his chin on the top of his head, crooning comfortingly. “You’re okay. You’re here.  _You’re right here_. Home, with me. It’s okay.” 

“Home.” The word pushes past numb lips. “Oak…land?”

“Yes, Oakland.” A faint sob leaves his father’s throat. “Oh, my son! My son, where did you go, what did you see, do you remember?”

He tries to remember. 

Really, he does! But the memories vanish quicker as he desperately tries to hang on and recreate a solid image. Trying to shake his head is an exercise in futility and he stops as a dull throbbing forms at his temples. “Cold.”

“Yes! Yes, let’s get you a bath.” As he’s hefted into his father’s arms, his patriarch hissed. “Wherever you were, it must have been  _freezing_! Your skin is like ice…” 

His dad is always like this after. 

Every time around this month, the subconscious of destined soulmates, ages eight and up, left their original bodies to swap places with their other halves for an hour, an hour and a half at most; if even a minute longer over the queued time, it was advised to call a doctor or some type of medical professional  **immediately** because they were likely stuck, or worse. 

No one ever expounded on what was ‘worse’, but the grim set of his pops’ jaw and his shiny eyes told him all that he needed to know the one time he’d tentatively pressed for information. 

After he takes a bath and a cup of hot tea is pressed insistently into his hand, the more he feels like himself, “Baba.” 

“Yes, my son?” There’s a sizzling sound and the scent of bacon fills the small kitchen.

“Tell me a story.” Lazily, Erik swings his legs back and forth, back and forth, in his chair, swirling his tea around in his cup after having taken two swigs. 

There’s a chuckle and then his father comes to the table, depositing a fair amount of eggs and bacon onto his plate. “Which one?”

“The story of home.” He really likes that one, even though it kind of made him wistful, too. 

“Millions of years ago…” 

Erik listened carefully as he ate his food and drank his cooling tea. He’s heard this story a hundred times, but this time? Hearing about the Jabari Tribe leaving to isolate themselves in the mountains… 

It stirred something inside him. 

Something that he’s forgetting… or remembering?

Anyway, he puts it out of mind for now, especially with the arrival of Uncle James. He likes the man, as he’s always greeted him with a fist bump and play fought with him. Not today though, Uncle James only gets to ruffle his hair a bit after accepting the flying tackle hug that knocks him back against the door. 

“Go play with your friends.” 

Shoulders slumping, he groaned. “Do I  **have** to?” Erik whined. His pops sent him a  _look_ and he gulped.

There’s laughter overhead and a pat on the shoulder. “Next time, little man.” Then he holds his fist out. Erik bumps his fist against Uncle James’, letting out a ‘boosh’, which is supposed to mimic an explosion. 

His theatrics only amuse the older male even more. 

With one last wave, he looks over his shoulder at his pops as he opens the front door and slips out. As it closes, he catches sight of Uncle James and his dad exchanging a dap and Uncle James pats his father on the back. His dad looks worried, but serious. 

So it must be about his mom, that’s why his father doesn’t want him around for that conversation… 

Determined to not get down, he knocks on the door of the two boys that also live in the apartment complex, Rey and Mikel, they also go to the same school as he does. 

Erik invites them to shoot some hoops.

They play until the street lights come on. And even just a little bit after before the other boys’ siblings or parent comes and gets them. Tired and a slightly sweaty, something feels off because his dad hasn’t hollered from the window to come inside for dinner yet. Before his imagination can get away from him, Uncle James is coming down the apartment complex’s metal stairs. Erik relaxes minutely, not by much, but a little. 

“Where’s dad?”

Uncle James jerks his head and beckons for him. “Come with me.” Erik hesitates. “Yo, don’t you trust me, little man?”

It’s been a weird day but the usage of his nickname is what returns things to normal. And he does trust Uncle James because his dad did, obviously. So, shrugging off his unease, he follows Uncle James who leads him past the apartment, shushing his questions, only promising answers soon, and leads him to the rooftop. 

Standing there waiting…

“Hello, nephew.” 

It’s not his father, but upon looking at the man closely, he can sort of see a resemblance. A little. He’s older than his dad, that’s for sure. 

Confused, he glanced back at Uncle James who smiles comfortingly. 

“This is your uncle, T’Chaka.” 

There’s a quick explanation given to him that his dad was needed on another long term assignment before the air ripples, revealing this sleek….spaceship? Airplane? He knows what it is, because he’d read about it in his father’s notes. 

A Royal Talon Fighter. 

Erik doesn’t get to touch it, much to his annoyance, as he’s hustled onto the aircraft immediately.

“Wait, where are we going? Does dad know about this?”

Uncle James ruffles his hair, but it’s not he who answers the question, “He knows and actually insisted that I take you, N’Jadaka. Do not worry so much. It’s going to be a long flight. Get some rest, okay?”

He tries to insist that he isn’t tired, but today had been sort of exhausting. Blinking rapidly, Erik tried to stay awake but sleepiness overtook him quickly and soon he’s out like a light.

The next time he opens his eyes, the scenery is…

It's....

“Where are we?” The words left him in a hushed, awed whisper.

He can almost literally hear the smile in Uncle James’ voice. 

“We are home.”

Ushered off the aircraft, Erik looks around…like everywhere. Something that amuses Uncle James beyond measure, even as he keeps him within reaching distance. Then these bald ladies in red, holding spears are standing there, in neat rows on either side. That’s not what has his attention though, it’s the pretty brown skinned lady and the other boy there. 

His uncle, and isn’t that weird, he has another uncle, T’Chaka had gone up to the woman and is talking to her in hushed whispers while the boy, his complexion a shade darker than his own, hair cut neatly and dressed…

‘He’s rich.’ Something in his brain hissed and it’s starting to dawn on Erik that this is really happening. 

“Hi!” Without an ounce of fear or hesitance, the boy stops in his space, a wide smile that shows off the gap in his teeth, hand outstretched. Erik can feel sweat gather at the back of his neck.

This isn’t Oakland. 

“Do you want to be friends?” The question is asked in a way that should’ve been phrased as a statement. In the next breath, the boy is talking again. “Because I think we’d be great friends! I’m T’Challa.” 

‘Geez, let me talk too…’ Slowly, he reached out and clasped hands with T’Challa. “Hi, and I…” The urge to look up at Uncle James for guidance is strong but he resists. Barely. He’s not a baby, he can do this. “I guess we can be friends. I’m N’Jadaka.” Lifting his shoulder in a shrug, “You can call me Erik, though, if you want.” 

T’Challa blinks. “Why would I do that? N’Jadaka is your name.”

“Because my name is hard for people to pro…prono…to say.” Erik says in a ‘duh!’ tone. 

“I’m calling you N’Jadaka.” T’Challa says with finality, as if that’s that.

“Not if I say you can’t.” He retorts, just because he can. This boy kind of bugs him, a little.

“You’re being mean, N’Jadaka!”

Urgh. He took it back. 

Erik looked pleadingly up at Uncle James who carefully averted his gaze, lips twitching. So there’d be no help coming from him.

“Boys.” Heavy hands landed on his shoulders and he nearly flinches in surprise. Looking up, he sees that it’s his uncle. “I see that you’ve already introduced yourselves. Good. T’Challa, this is your cousin, N’Jadaka. He’s going to be staying with us for awhile.” 

“Yes! I always wanted a brother!” T’Challa crowed and Erik discreetly rolled his eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been a few weeks, almost a month, since he’d come to stay in the palace (an actual, real live palace) with his two Uncles, James and T’Chaka, and during that time, his entire situation and outlook had changed. 

People, sometimes much older than he, talked to him with respect. 

Much to his surprise, they didn’t bow and scamper away like he’d read in adventure stories and history textbooks about common folk interacting with royalty; at most, they’d incline their head and/or cross both arms in front of their chest like a salute. 

Wakanda isn’t like Oakland. 

Secretly, in his heart of hearts, he doesn’t believe there’s anywhere else in the entire, whole world like Wakanda. His Baba had always told him to be proud of his heritage, but he hadn’t known what that  _meant_ for him exactly.

There’s a brief knock at his door, breaking his train of thought. “N’Jadaka?” T’Challa’s voice only barely can be heard but it’s muffled. “Are you awake and decent yet?”

“No.” 

The doors are thrown open and T’Challa ran inside like a speeding bullet, arms outstretched for a hug. Erik stayed still until the last second and before the other boy could get his arms around him, he curved to the side just so, neatly dodging the embrace; T’Challa ran into the bed instead, knocking the breath out of his body. 

“I said, ‘No’, and you tried to hug me anyway.” Erik remarked, voice as dry as dust. “What if I really  _had_ been naked?” 

T’Challa rolled from side to side, clutching his probably bruised torso. “I just wanted to say good morning to you, brother.” He paused. “Plus, we both have the same bits, so it’s okay!”

“We’re not brothers,” Erik ticked off one finger. “And you weird.” That’s a fact, not an assumption. “I’m going to get breakfast.” 

“Wait! Wait up for me, N’Jadaka.” T’Challa called out as his cousin stepped out of the opened doorway into the hallway.

“No.”

Even though he said he wouldn’t wait for the other boy, he ended up waiting anyway. Thankfully T’Challa got his act together quickly and stopped hyping up his ‘injury’, hurrying after Erik with the Dora hanging back a few feet, giving the duo the illusion of privacy.

“So, how do you like it here?” T’Challa asked. 

“You ask me the same question everyday.” Erik retorted, slight exasperation audible in his tone. 

“It’s because you never really give me a concrete answer!” T’Challa shot back, mouth pulling down in a brief frown. “Maybe you’re homesick?”

Was he though?

Did he miss the old, crickety basketball hoops or the way that the street lights that flickered on and off, off and on between 7:30 p.m. to 8:45 before eventually fixing itself at 9? Maybe it was the way Ms Jossi kept hollering at him to stop running down the hallways and how he had a ton of friends?

…Yeah, maybe he did miss those things. 

He didn’t miss the feeling of inadequacy. 

Every time he entered a store, he had to keep his hands out of his pockets and in full view, or the inability to linger in the aisles unless he be accused of stealing. The way his (white) teachers sometimes ignored his raised hand to call on somebody who wasn’t even paying attention. The way that the patrol cars did their routes ‘to protect the neighborhood’ but almost daily, he’d hear about some cop yanking up a guy for no reason, or worse–

So maybe it’d be safer to say that he’s conflicted, being here feels like a dream most days.

Of course, Erik doesn’t say any of that aloud though.

“Ion know. I guess.”

T’Challa huffs at Erik’s atypical non-answer, and as he goes to pester his cousin for further details, only he bumps into somebody. Looking up, his entire face lights up with a smile, “Baba! Good morning!”

T’Chaka reaches a hand down, the monarch ruffles his son’s hair, cupping the back of his neck so that he’s forced to take a few steps closer and T’Challa doesn’t waste a second with sneaking in a hug, arms wrapping around his middle as far as they could. “Good morning, my son! I see you are in a hurry today!”

“As you say, the early bird catches the worm! I even woke up N’Jadaka!” T’Challa proclaimed, grinning.

“So I see, I see.” One more hair ruffle and a forehead kiss, then he let go. “You are quiet as a mouse, dear nephew.” T’Chaka’s smile is smaller than the grin he’d given his son, but no less warm. “Would I be out of line to request a hug, hm?”

Erik fiddled with his shirt. “I…”

“That’s okay then.” T’Chaka nodded after several minutes had passed but Erik made no efforts to step closer. “Let’s get some breakfast, you two!” His voice lowered into a ‘secret’ tone. “I think the cooks made blueberry pancakes today.”

“Yeees!” T’Challa cheered and he’s the first one through the door to the dining room. Erik followed after at a more sedate pace, however before he could fully enter, T’Chaka dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

Erik looked up at his uncle in askance and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the man’s expression. “We need to talk later privately. Okay?”

His mouth felt like he’d swallowed dust but he nodded. 

All throughout breakfast, Erik tried to be cheerful and relaxed, engaging, even as he wondered what sort of news he had to be told. The food is delicious but he can’t eat as much as he wants, not with how his stomach is tied in knots. 

After the meal ends, he sees that T’Challa is about to make a beeline for him but Auntie Ramonda stops him, coaxing her son and asking that he join her for a few hours. 

T’Challa is smart, much smarter than Erik and Erik isn’t an idiot either, so he knows for sure that he’s being given the run around, but since it’s his mother, well, he doesn’t see the harm in giving him. He does wave to N’Jadaka sadly and promises to find him later. 

T’Chaka leads Erik to his office. Uncle James is already there, sitting in a chair, though judging by the complicated expression on his face, he’s deep in thought and so asking for clarification or wanting comfort from him is a lost cause. It’s just a little after noon that Erik learns that his father had been instructed to get close to the biggest threat to Wakanda’s safety, a devious and manipulative, cunning man; he’s told that his pops had gotten enough evidence to get this man locked away for life, or worse. 

“Your father was – is – a hero.” T’Chaka murmurs. “He will be remembered as such for generations to come.” 

“And you think that  **matters**?” Erik demanded. “You think that….that people will care about his sacrifice? That  _I_ care about his sacrifice? Are you crazy?”

“N’Jadaka…” Uncle James spoke up, voice cautioning. 

“I just want my dad.” He uttered. “Is he here? He’s being medically treated? He’s alright, right?” No one said anything. “Answer me!” Voice cracking as he yelled, Erik doesn’t realize that he’d half leaned across the desk towards T’Chaka until Uncle James is in front of him, body shielding him from view. 

“Let go of me, let go, let go, let go…Baba…” 

“Shh, it’s okay…It’s okay…It’s alright…” Uncle James hummed, not saying a word of protest as Erik stopped struggling and trying to get past him and instead clung to him, crying hard. 

Much later that afternoon, Erik is hiding in his rooms buried underneath several blankets and sheets. There’s a tentative knock on the door and he stays quiet, hoping that the person will go away. The door opens a crack, “…Is everything okay, Erik?”

“I don’t feel like going outside today, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, okay.” There’s a pause. “Do you want me to go away?”

“We’re brothers right?” 

T’Challa’s face lights up with happiness, only to be slightly overshadowed that something is very much wrong, but he doesn’t say anything. He just enters the room more fully, closing the door behind him and settles at the edge of the bed, a book in hand. Right now, N’Jadaka doesn’t want him to talk, it’s obvious. However, he can just be there when he’s ready. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Gorilla City, Jabari Land**

**2:39 P.M.**

You woke to the feeling of a cool cloth being pressed against your brow. 

Eyes opening and closing, surroundings blurred. Blinking, your lips parted, “Grandm–” Your attempt to speak caused you to sputter and cough. By habit, you tried to hold in the feeling, but the burning pressure on your lungs only increased all the more rapidly. Soon, you’re uncontrollably coughing and then lightly gagged, and as you doubled forward, fingers clenched in the covers of the bed, a bucket is placed beneath your nose – just in time as you threw up last night’s dinner. 

“Shh, shh.” Warm hands ran over the nape of your neck, thumb tracing back and forth, back and forth, the motion rhythmic, familiar and comforting. 

“Don’t fight it, child. Just let it happen.” 

Heeding her advice, you stopped unconsciously trying to fight your body’s natural reaction to being sick. Several minutes later, you finally cough up everything in your stomach it feels like, body trembling and weak. Your grandmother eases you back against the pillows, pressing a glass of water into your hand insistently. 

Once certain that you won’t drop the glass and make a mess, she watches as you take the first sip, gargling a bit before spitting it out into the bucket, then she finally stepped back, walking over to the bathroom door and turning the knob. You heard her moving about in there, heard the tap from the tub being turned on and water start to flow; she was cleaning the bucket. 

Relaxing further into the pillows on the bed, you brought the glass to your lips again. Sipping at the cool, refreshing liquid slowly, trying not to spark another coughing fit. “I saw him again.” 

“What?” Your grandmother’s voice rang out from the bathroom; she hadn’t heard you.

“I said, ‘I saw him again’!” You raised your voice slightly. The words prompted the older woman to lean her head back so now you can see her expressions, and oh boy, does she look surprised. “In my dreams, I saw him. He was…” Your fingers clenched the glass in your hold a bit tighter. “He’s interesting.” 

“…Curious that the two of you have such a strong bond. The dreams usually don’t happen for years after the initial meeting.”

A twinge of panic went through your heart. 

“Is it bad, us being able to see each other early? Is it…is it…?”

You don’t know what happened. Maybe you blanked out a little, but soon her hands are firm, but reassuring, coaxing the glass out of your hands before bringing you into a hug. “No, it’s not ‘bad’, sweet girl. It just means that the bond between the two of you will be…it is a unique occurrence among the Jabari.” 

The words made your heart skip a beat. Of course, she felt it and hummed, carding her fingers through your hair. “I don’t want to be different than everyone else. Please don’t tell anyone else.” 

“Ah, sweet girl…” You heard her sigh. “Of course, I won’t tell a soul.”

“You promise?”

She nodded. “I swear.” You relaxed, finally. “But, Y/N. Try not to see this so much as a bad thing but as a blessing. Hanuman never burdens us with anything that we cannot handle.” 

Lips pressing together in a thin line, you said nothing, only nodded to show that you’d heard her. While you loved your grandmother dearly, it’s not like she could always understand what you’re going through. 

You’d been born with a weak immune system, and any little thing could get you sick for weeks, sometimes even months. Being bedridden more than half the time left you with naught to do except read and exercise your mind with strategy games, though occasionally, your big brother M’Baku would come and play with you, even when the duties of being the future Chieftain kept him busy. 

The children stories and history scrolls and books you’d read painted the lovely picture of strong-willed and powerful men and women in your already overactive imagination. Protectors of the Tribe. Warriors. And in your heart of hearts, that’s what you wanted. 

To be strong and fierce. 

Such a thing would never happen unless you’re granted a miracle. Or you took the steps on your own–

“How long have you had dreams of your soulmate, to the point that you’re certain that they’re male?” The unexpected question came out of nowhere and caught you off guard. Silence in the room became strained as you stubbornly held your tongue, but after a minute or two, Grandma sighed, again, and returned to playing with your hair. “Very well, I won’t ask anything more. I would hope that you confide in someone else about this though, sweet girl.”

“You swore–”

“And I will keep my word.” With ease, she interrupted you before you could really work yourself up. “It’s just a suggestion. For when you’re ready to think about that.” Putting a finger underneath your chin, she made you look up and then kissed your forehead. “Enough serious conversation. I said I would tell you the tale of Uwamani today, yes?”

Your eyes lit up with glee and you nodded. 

“Yes! Please! I want to hear the story!!”

Truthfully, your enthusiasm isn’t even faked. You’d been wanting to hear about the warrior queen since….since…. You didn’t know. A long time! No matter how much you’d begged and pleaded, it’d done no good because the tale was apparently very grim but now that you’re about to be told, it felt like you were being treated like a grown up, just a little. 

Maybe one day, you’d tell her that you’d had the dreams since you were five, but only got vague recollections since turning six, or how the things became even more clear a few months ago, though you didn’t know  _why_ , you still couldn’t hear his name or see any notable features to identify him  ~~(secretly, you didn’t think he wasn’t any of the boys in the Jabari)~~. 

However today is not that day. 


End file.
